Blog Posts by David Marchese

Something strange happened on last weekend's season premiere of Saturday Night Live. It wasn't Michael Phelps' endearingly awkward hosting job or Tina Fey's Sarah Palin impression. Nope, it was way weirder--Lil Wayne played electric guitar on national television.

When Wayne came out to perform "Lollipop" with a guitar slung across his back, I assumed the instrument was a simple nod to rock star iconography. For the first two or so minutes of the performance, that's all the ax was. But then, at the point when the radio version starts to fade, Wayne, gold grillz shining from his mouth, eyes hidden behind big black sunglasses, whipped the guitar around to his chest and started making noises that had me flashing back to the time I was working as a waiter and knocked over a full tray of martini glasses.

In retrospect, Wayne's rock move has been coming for some time. I've seen pictures of him with a guitar during performances from the summer. With their mock-metal guitar and thumping

As last Sunday's millions of afternoon widows well know, football season has begun. At this point, there's no arguing that the sport is truly America's national pastime, religion, obsession, whatever. But even though pigskin antics have ascended to the pinnacle of national popularity, football still hasn't surpassed baseball (or even basketball) as pop's sport of choice.

For starters, there's no football equivalent to Paul Simon's immortal Joe DiMaggio shout-out on "Mrs. Robinson." Football doesn't have its own version of John Fogerty's, "Centerfield" or, to dig really deep, Warren Zevon's "Bill Lee" (named after the former Red Sox pitcher). "The Super Bowl Shuffle" didn't exactly set anyone's ears on fire.

The connection between music and baseball is also about more than just songs. When rockers look to play iconic gigs, they head for classic baseball stadiums--Springsteen at Fenway, Billy Joel at Shea. When they look to rake it in, they head for Giants' stadium. There's also a

One minute and twenty-seven seconds into the new album from Jersey roots-punkers the Gaslight Anthem and there it is. "Great Expectations," the lead-off track, is roaring along, tense and taut, like the sound of thunder sped up and stretched out, then, an electric screech swoops in to herald the coming chorus. That noise is a pick slide--and I love it.

Effective though it may be, Gaslight guitarist Brian Fallon's use of the pick slide is far from original. In fact, the technique--which involves sliding the edge of the pick along the low strings of the guitar--is something of a sonic Zelig. Listen, and you can hear that unmistakable sound all over rock history. 1950s greaser guitar legend, Link Wray, ("Rumble") pick-slid like he was paid to. So did surf-guitar guru, Dick Dale. AC/DC's Angus Young knows well the power of a perfectly placed pick slide. When he does it--and he does it in almost every song; "Highway To Hell" has an especially good one--he sounds the way his band's lightning

What will today sound like tomorrow? That question comes to mind courtesy of King Tuff. Though the name seems like it belongs to a dub reggae toaster, King Tuff is actually singer-guitarist Kyle Thomas, who's best known (if he's known at all) as the frontman in J. Mascis's stoner-metal side-project Witch. Given those admittedly meager credentials, it's a bit of a surprise that Thomas' debut effort under the King Tuff name, Was Dead (The Colonel Records), is the best retro-rock album I've heard since I put my Edsel in hock.

Was Dead doesn't drop until October, but a bunch of its tracks can be found online in all the usual places. Take a listen: The album is awash in Chuck Berry rhythms, fuzzy rubber band guitar solos, and lyrical shout outs to pinball and girls named Ruthie. Now and then a garage-rock riff will jump in and give a Nuggets-y kick to things, but generally, King Tuff sounds like the kind of thing James Dean would've been happy to hear blasting from his transistor radio.

But

It took me a long time to take Neil Diamond seriously. Though I'd been aware of the Jewish Elvis ever since I heard Urge Overkill's cover of his "Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon" (in 1994's Pulp Fiction), my real introduction came years later, when, during a procrastination-induced bout of cleaning, I found my dad's cassette tape of Diamond's Hot August Night laying at the bottom of a box of discarded music. That alternately eye-rolling and ear-catching document of a 1972 L.A. concert was undoubtedly cheesy, but I liked the way it tasted. I've been a Neil Diamond fan ever since, albeit a closet one. I'm happy to listen to him by myself, but a little embarrassed to play his stuff outside the judgment-free zone of my headphones. Unfortunately, there was no jack for me to plug into at Diamond's sold-out Madison Square Garden show last Friday night.

Only Grinchly cynics wouldn't have enjoyed at least a dozen of the songs Neil and his band of 35 years (!) played that night. "Holly Holy,"

At the risk of losing my credibility as a music writer, I'll admit that I hadn't seen Radiohead play live before last Friday, when the band headlined the opening night of the inaugural All Points West Festival on Liberty Island in New Jersey. In the days leading up to the show, when I told my music-loving friends that I was going to see Radiohead for the first time they reacted as if I'd told them I'd never eaten ice cream or gone swimming--how could I have missed out on something so fundamentally awesome? No good reason, really. But, after the show, I understood the incredulity, because Radiohead live are amazing. 

Like anyone who digs guitars, melodies, and cool whooshing noises, I loved Radiohead's pre-Kid A work, but, since that glitchy, experimental album came out in 2000, I'd lost some interest. Recent albums struck me as a too dour and self-consciously arty. A band I'd enjoyed for its songs turned into a band more interested in sounds. Live though, what impressed me most was

I was recently lucky enough to spend some time in Italy. While I was there, taking in the glorious works of art and trying to figure out where on Lake Como George Clooney's villa might be, it occurred to me that, you know, the Italians have given the world a lot. But they haven't given us a great rock band. Seriously, where is the kickass Italian rock star? Bland blues shouter Zucchero? Supper club snoozer Eros Ramazzotti? Germany, England, France, Sweden, and the Netherlands have all produced killer rock acts, but not Italy. But maybe, like kids who flourish when they get out from under their parent's expectations, Italians had to get away from the land of Da Vinci and Michelangelo in order to produce good rock'n'roll, because Italian-Americans have kicked out some spicy jams. To prove it, below is my list of the top ten Italian-American rockers. Maybe the old country can learn something:

1. Bruce Springsteen--The name sounds Jewish (it's actually of Dutch descent), but Springsteen's

Last Sunday night, Spiritualized made me want to go to sleep. And thank goodness for that. Seeing the band play live, where leader Jason Pierce's weary croon and his bandmates' floating electric guitars and bleary keyboards come together in hazy majesty, made me realize how much I enjoy listening to the veteran British psych-rockers before going to bed. That might sound like damning with faint praise, but Pierce's gift for dense, woozy production and warm gospel melody is perfect for ensuring an almost mystical transition between awake and asleep. But Pierce isn't alone in making music perfect for when tired minds start to wander. Below are my top ten bedtime albums. Make sure to share yours!

1. Lazer Guided Melodies, Spiritualized

Probably Spiritualized's best album-though the new Songs in A & E, comes close, Lazer Guided Melodies feels like it was recorded from inside the womb--or an opium den.

2. Live At The Old Quarter, Houston, Texas, Townes Van Zandt

Rich in detail and